


Toward the Dusk

by palomino333



Series: Welcome to the NWR [1]
Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: 1960s, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Diesel is concern trolling, Fear of Death, Growing Old, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 20:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: An argument with Diesel unearths James's concerns about his partner Edward's age and their future together.





	Toward the Dusk

With a tired sigh, James placed his hands on his back, and stretched. His reflection, mirrored back at him from his locker, looked tired, his face coated with a thin sheen of sweat. His uniform was slightly rumpled from the day's work. Its design, being out of regulation, and customized by his own tastes, tended to bring a raised eyebrow.

It certainly did, upon the Fat Controller taking in the golden epaulettes and gold braids James had sewn into his shoulder pads and cuffs, respectively. "All right, James. You can keep them, provided you continue to get your work done."

"Thank you, sir," he replied, raising his chin, and stopping himself from kneading his hat in his hands. Gordon and Henry had rolled their eyes at the ceiling, while Percy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out into laughter, his blonde curls bobbing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Thomas said nothing, as well, but amusement had flickered through his blue eyes, which peeked out from under unruly auburn hair.

As James passed Edward, however, the older man spoke, his hands folded behind him, keeping in line with the other engineers as they presented themselves before their boss, "Unorthodox, but immaculate." James paused and turned to see Edward glancing appraisingly over him, genuine curiosity on his face. "Who is your tailor?"

James took a moment to bask in his glory. "No one. Just me."

Edward smiled warmly at him. "Will you show me, sometime?"

Genuinely caught off guard, James recovered to reply, "Sure, just don't expect any free service. I have a living to make, you know."

Amused, Edward gave a parting retort, "Then, my dear boy, you will have some competition, in the coming weeks."

James's crew mates had already departed by the time he had left the showers, with his taking longer to pamper himself. He found, as he moved back into the locker room clad in his undershirt, pants, and regulation non-slip boots, that he enjoyed the silence, interrupted only by the chopping of the fans. There used to be music, at one point, but Gordon's locker room ban list, which hung from the ceiling and now reached twenty-five items, had radios marked at number sixteen after Douglas and Donald had driven him half mad with Scottish folk songs on repeat.

The locker room door clanged open, and James turned, clutching his shoulders in a shiver from his locker being positioned close to the door, only to hold in a groan.

Derek "Diesel" Witherby stood framed in the doorway, his engineer's cap tilted slightly sideways on his forehead. Raising a nicotine-stained hand, he undid the brass buttons on his black and red-trimmed uniform coat. "Evening, James." The stench of tobacco wafted from Diesel's skin. Gordon had previously thrown Diesel out of the locker room for smoking before but had said nothing on smoking outside.

James wrinkled his nose. "Do me a favor, Diesel, and back up. You smell rank."

Diesel held up his hands, and obligingly backed away. "Of course, I wouldn't want to offend you."

James snorted at that. "No, I don't imagine you would." Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the padlock. Diesel tromped across the room, roughly pulling his own locker door open. James held in a sigh of annoyance, hoping that he wouldn't have to interact with him long.

"You know, I've been mulling something over that I've wanted to bring to your attention, James," Diesel commented.

"Oh, and what's that?" James asked in a disinterested tone of voice.

"Edward's gotten on in years. I heard his sixty-second birthday was a couple of months ago," Diesel's smile was oily as he tossed on his leather coat, "Good on him for living so long."

"So, what's the concern, Diesel?" James asked impatiently, spraying himself with cologne, "I haven't all night."

Placing his riding goggles over his head, and reaching for his motorcycle gloves, Diesel replied, "I think age is finally catching up with the old boy."

James set down the cologne bottle heavily and snatched his shirt from inside his locker. "Name one instance."

"Edward is on the third shift, for one," Diesel answered, shutting his locker door, and clacking across the room, "His reflexes aren't what they used to be. Why do you think he mostly shunts around trucks? He's also given less jobs to do."

"That's not your judgment to make," James admonished, his voice muffled as he tugged his shirt over his head.

"I'm just concerned for the passengers," Diesel replied, leaning backward against Edward's locker, and thumping his boot against the floor.

James scowled at him. "Move."

"He's not using it. Besides, I'm not barging into it," he replied, "The man has a pension, after all. It would be better if he simply allowed himself to be put out to pasture, as it were."

James ran his brush more roughly through his long hair than he first intended, causing him to grimace from the pain. His black hair had grown out, his forelock falling close to his dark brown eyes, and his hair curling at the base of his neck. "That's not your decision, either."

"No, but I've seen things like this happen, back on the main land," Diesel replied. With a shrug, he added, "Saw it back in the war, too. You don't send the wrong man in for a job, but then again, you were probably in diapers then."

James fumed at that. "Don't talk down to me. I was ten on VE Day."

"Well then, hats off to you. You probably went back to sleep in your warm little bed, didn't you? Meanwhile, I didn't see home until months later." Diesel tilted his head to better show off the scar that lanced across the right side of his face, barely missing his eye.

"So didn't Gordon, but he doesn't flaunt it," James replied evenly, dipping his hand into a tub of pomade on his locker's shelf.

"Gordon was a snot-nosed brat just a few months over eighteen. He knows better than to do so," Diesel dismissed with a wave of the hand, "And then of course there was Edward, probably in some harmless little quartermaster's position. He would've been too scared to lift a finger against anyone."

"Shows what little you know," James replied, his anger beginning to bleed through his words as he ran his fingers, coated in pomade, through his hair, "He was with Monty in Africa, you clod! Quite frankly, Diesel, you're coming off as a pretentious twat!"

"You think I'm pretentious?" Diesel asked, sneering at him, "How about you look in the mirror, you little fruit? Wearing epaulettes and preening like a peacock. You're a clown. It's little wonder Edward—"

"Don't." James cut him off tightly, pointing at him.

Diesel smiled, glad to have gotten a rise out of him. "Or what, exactly? You'll fight me? That's a right good way to lose your job over locker room talk."

James's fist shook at his side. "I was speaking about our jobs before. You've made it personal. You can throw whatever baseless insults you want at my profession, and I'll take you up on them. But don't you ever bring my home life into this. And more importantly," his boots clacked as he stepped forward, tilting his head up to stare at the big man, "If you ever insult my partner to my face again, you'd best hope I don't catch you off work."

"Is that a threat?" Diesel asked, his fingers tapping against his arm.

"I'm not threatening anything. It's a statement of fact," James replied, turning to walk away.

"A pleasure to know that you speak to outsiders like this," Diesel commented.

James kept his back to him as he pulled off his boots to grab his shoes. "You've worked here for two years, Diesel. You still being an outsider at this point is your own problem. And frankly," he wound his bright red and white scarf about his neck, "if you don't like our team so much here, then why don't you consider returning to the mainland? No one's stopping you."

Diesel chuckled. "Let's see you say that in ten years' time, when your beloved red steam engine is retired. Oh, and one more thing, James."

Buttoning his frock coat, he grumbled, "What now?"

"I'll give you a fact of my own. It's hard to raise a family on no income. Why do you think I left the mainland?" A chill raced down James's spine at that, and he recalled Henry mentioning to him once that Diesel was divorced. "Anyway, good night." Diesel's boots clacked away, leaving James with his thoughts.

James glanced up from his reflection in the mirror to his picture of Edward standing on a balcony overlooking an inlet from their weekend in Wales. Shutting the locker door, he walked away.

XXXXXXX

"Evening, James," Bertie greeted cheerfully from where he sat at the driver's seat, his salt and pepper hair hanging past his cap. With a curt greeting, James paid his fare, and continued down the aisle.

Mavis was curled up against her window, the blonde strands of her hair greasy from being under her bandana. Douglas was asleep on Donald's shoulder. Montague "Duck" Duckworth was rubbing at some lint that had settled over the GWR logo on his coat collar. Crewmen and a few women joked and chatted among themselves. James gave a slight smile at everyone's presence, and felt thankful, not for the first time, that Nancy boys and bunnies could find at least some steady work on Sodor in this day and age as well.

"Gentlemen," James greeted, sliding into the seat directly before Gordon and Henry.

Gordon smirked at his appearance. "A little slow, James. I might've had to hold the bus for you."

"Oh, blow it out your ass," James replied, swinging his legs up and onto the empty side seat next to him. "Damn weather slows everything down, these days."

"It's not all bad," Henry replied wistfully, gazing out the window beside him, his warm brown eyes reflecting back at him, "The sunrise over a snow-topped forest is exquisite to view."

"So's a rose bush, but that's not pleasant to feel, either," James replied evenly. Catching a yawn in his hand, he asked, "Where's Thomas? I don't see him."

Gordon shrugged, his heavy trench coat significantly bulking out the movement. "Not his fault this time. Someone got sick on Annie's coach. It had to be wiped down and cleaned out."

James grimaced. "Fat Controller's not going to like that one."

"'Tis the season," Henry muttered, pausing to catch a cough in his hand.

Edging away from him, James commented at Gordon's annoyed expression, "You share his germs. I don't."

Clearing his throat, Henry replied, "I'm flattered. So, little pepper pot, what's the problem today?"

James draped his arm back over his seat. "You remember how we used to complain about Edward, with his being older and slower?"

Each man nodded. "What happened?" Henry asked.

"Diesel's at it again. It's harmless, I think, but the man seems devoted to being a pain in the ass," James muttered.

"Huh," Henry said, with a slight smile.

Gordon scowled. "Henry, need I remind you that we own a couch?"

"Yes dear, you were on it last week," he replied cheekily.

"Hush, you," he replied, terminating the sidebar conversation to glance back at James, "Go on."

"Diesel decided to dig into him. I don't think he's going to do anything, but I don't much like it. He did mention his pension."

Gordon spread his hands over the back of James's seat, dwarfing James's hand by comparison. Henry gave him a grave glance. "That's none of his concern."

"Exactly. He's saying he's more concerned for the passengers if Edward has a mishap, though," James continued quietly.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know any better, that sounds like a threat."

"Hardly," Gordon replied, "but with Edward working the third shift right now, Diesel might be trying to move in."

Henry snorted. "As if he actually has any power. He's a worker like we are."

"You were furloughed for a week because you didn't want to work," Gordon replied sharply. Henry cast his glance away, not wanting to think on his less than stellar actions.

James folded his arms tightly about himself. "Well, isn't it telling that Diesel didn't say that to his face?"

"That's not telling. That's simple. It's easy to get a rise out of you. Edward's more laid back," Gordon replied plainly.

"You're one to talk," James growled, "but that's beside the point."

"Do you think we should have a word with the Fat Controller?" Henry asked.

"Couldn't hurt." Reaching up, James tugged on the cord to indicate his stop. Rising to grip onto the bar above him, his body swaying, he said in annoyance, "Living's already enough of an issue in and of itself. If you asked me, Diesel would do well to remember that."

Henry held up a finger and turned away to sneeze into his arm. Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at his nose. "Agreed."

Gordon gave Henry a careful glance before stating, "Nevertheless, there's nothing wrong with desiring advancement."

"Advancement, yes. Putting someone else down, no," James replied.

"You'll have no argument from me, there," Gordon affirmed.

James nodded curtly. "Anyway, what are you two doing tonight?"

Henry ran a hand through his thick brown hair. "Managed to convince the big guy here to take me out dancing. It's been a while."

Gordon smiled. "It's been a busy week. Thought you'd might like a change of scenery."

Henry smiled back and turned to James. "Why don't you and Edward come, sometime?"

Gordon lifted his eyebrows in a challenge at James. "If you can keep up, that is."

James grinned. "Well chaps, be careful what you wish for, then." With a wave, he departed.

Mavis stretched her arms over her head with a loud yawn as she disappeared into the crowd. Passengers hurried past him at the bus station, toting luggage. The smell of gasoline hung acrid in the air. He trod on a discarded newspaper bearing the date December 8, 1967 on its surface.

Walking home, James thought again of Diesel's words, and realized how ridiculous they sounded, in retrospect. Even in his twilight years, Edward was still a formidable individual. James himself had evidence of that.

James had been leaning over the controls, sweaty locks of hair plastered to his forehead. His chest heaving, he had glanced up and down at the racing tracks and setting that sped by in a blur. He had utterly felt like a fool, tearing away from the station without the remainder of his crew. With the controls barely responding, he had felt ready to resign himself to his fate when the sound of a second train pounding up to his engine's side caught his ear.

Glancing to the side, his breath faltered upon seeing Edward, his gray hair plastered down to his head underneath his engineer's cap, and his blue eyes flashing up at him. While he was shouting commands to the crew about him and James's fireman, he still had moments to look at him, and assure him with a serene glance that it would be all right.

James had felt humiliated, after the Fat Controller had lectured him on his recklessness, but Edward hadn't taken the opportunity to twist the knife into him. Taking off his gloves, and washing the grease from his hands and wrists, Edward had merely said, "Promise me you'll never do that again." James didn't need to think twice, finding himself lucky to be alive. About a week later, he'd followed Edward into a gazebo in a local park, now finding the older man's lumbering gait to be charming.

Had that been Diesel, on that day, James knew that he wouldn't have made it. For that matter, Thomas and Percy would not have been able to stop his train, being too inexperienced, and the sheer power of Gordon and Henry's trains would also have killed him due to short stoppage. He owed Edward his life and knew that he had been the only man capable of the job.

The townhouse's familiar surroundings, such as the hall telephone and clock, welcomed him. Drawn by the sounds of puttering in the next room, James headed into the kitchen to find Edward, his back to him, preparing tea. His shoes were off, leaving his socked feet on the floor. The outline of his shoulder blades was visible through his shirt. "Hey, Ed," he wound his arm about his partner with an affectionate squeeze and placed a kiss into his gray hair.

The older man brought up his hand to squeeze at his wrist. "Welcome home, Jim."

James let go of him, and asked, "You need anything?"

"Two cups. I'll handle the rest," he replied, shutting off the burner as the teapot began to steam.

Meeting him in the dining room, James took a seat across from him. He noted that Edward was becoming paler due to lack of exposure sunlight. Despite the man before him being thirty years his senior, Edward still appeared strong and self-assured. He didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. Still, James had his misgivings, at times. Once of which, several weeks ago, was his carrying Edward, who had collapsed on a chair after the second shift, up to bed. Due to missing him now as a result of carrying the first shift, James felt concerned as to whether Edward was continuing that habit.

Occasionally, when he was asleep, he would be woken up by the sound of Edward taking his coat off the side chair for work. Noticing his being awake, Edward would brush his hand over James's hair, and arrange the pillows more carefully under him. "Sleep well, my prince," he would comment fondly before departing.

They spoke of their work for a little while, Edward regaling James with visuals of the stars from the night before over the ocean, and James telling him about Henry's invitation. Edward rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious manner. "Well, I'll need a bit of practice, but that sounds like it would be quite fun."

James fidgeted for a moment, and then continued, "Something else happened today."

Edward's face slowly fell as James related to him his unpleasant conversation with Diesel. "I see." Looking to busy himself, he poured milk into his tea, and began to stir it. "Well, I suppose he was bound to say something sour about me sooner or later. I've been dealing with comments like that since my thirty-seventh birthday, it seems."

"Oh, your hair?" James asked, knowing full well that Edward's workaholic tendencies took a toll on him.

Edward shook his head and tapped between his eyes at a wrinkled divot just above his nose. "As soon as this appeared, I was known as an old queen in bars."

James felt indignant, but let it go with a snort. "They didn't know what they were missing."

"Ah yes, and you don't seem to mind it one bit when I show you off," Edward replied.

James smiled. "If the shoe fits."

"Although," Edward rubbed his hand over his arm, "I understand Diesel's concern. It's probably better that I carry the freight cars now."

"Rubbish," James replied sharply, "You know the criticisms Diesel's passengers have. He's fast, but he's also rough. People get jostled around, and don't get to see the scenery like they do with you."

Edward shrugged and replied with a note of resignation, "I'm used where I'm needed. I have asked the Fat Controller more than once if my train can be run to pull the coaches, but he'd rather place me on freight duty."

"I can do it," James volunteered, "I can do both."

Edward smiled knowingly. "Yes, but you wouldn't like it for long."

Hesitating, he admitted, "No, I wouldn't."

Taking a sip of his tea, Edward asked, "Is something on your mind? You haven't brought this up to me before."

James stared down into his cup. "Do you ever think of what will happen, as the years go by? You're not invincible, Ed."

Edward lowered his cup to the table. "James, when that time comes, I have faith in you."

"That's not much of a comfort to me." James dropped his head into his hands with a heavy sigh, his fingers kneading at his hair. His voice dropped as a chair slid backwards, and footsteps moved toward him. Hands, calloused and toughened by years of working controls, brushed comfortingly against his skin before winding about him. Dropping his own hands, James muttered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let him get in my head."

"No," Edward replied gently, "It's partly my mistake." James glanced up, and Edward explained, "I'm not as young as I used to be, and I don't want you to worry. I'll take better care of myself." James slowly smiled at him as Edward added, "We have more years together than you think, and I need to make the most of them with you."

"Thanks, dear," James replied, "Could we talk, sometime, about the future? I want to plan for it, in case something happens."

The older man didn't push the point, and instead replied, "Yes." Edward smiled. "Why don't you rest? It's been a long day."

"Just give me a few moments, please," James replied, relaxing against him.

Edward ran a hand through his hair. "You may have as many as you wish."

**Author's Note:**

> ….I can explain. So, I was on Youtube, and saw Phantom Strider's top scariest PBS moments, two of which were from Thomas the Tank Engine. Remembering how I was charmed by the series as a little girl, I then watched a video on a top twenty list of the best Thomas the Tank Engine episodes, one of which was "Old Iron," where Edward and James have strong chemistry.
> 
> My imagination ran wild. I already adored Edward for being kindly and sweet, and still wanting to be useful in his old age. I liked James too, given his flamboyance and feisty temper. Come to think of it, I liked the supporting characters more than I did Thomas as a kid. One thing led to another in my mind, and this was somehow born. I wanted to sit on the idea, and make it leave, but it refused to do so until I jotted it down over a night and a day. I am not writing for this fandom again if I can help it.
> 
> James's human design was the most fun to work with. Diesel's was fun, as well, though I was going for more of a typical shit-kicker look with him. Henry being furloughed for a week is a reference to "The Sad Story of Henry." I took a creative liberty with the time frame, positioning the story in the 60's (from what I can tell, Thomas takes place anywhere between the 1920's to the 1970's). This was mostly rated for James's swearing.
> 
> Age range for the main Steam Team in this: Edward- early 60's, James- early 30's, Gordon- early 40's, Henry- mid 30's, Thomas- mid-20's, Percy-early 20's, Toby- late 50's
> 
> 3/5/19 Note: Due to the fact that male homosexuality was illegal in England and Wales until 1967, I had to move the time line. To compensate, a few lines have been altered, and Gordon has been aged slightly up.
> 
> As an added gag, here's Gordon's full ban list:
> 
> No running
> 
> No sliding on water
> 
> No pushing
> 
> No spitting
> 
> No eating
> 
> No drinking
> 
> No smoking
> 
> No imbibing/selling illegal substances
> 
> No defacing the walls
> 
> No throwing people into rubbish bins
> 
> No telling the same joke more than three times (that means you, Percy)
> 
> No complaining (a hastily scratched off entry in James's handwriting says "That means you, Gordon")
> 
> No writing on my list!
> 
> No asking to add or remove items from my list
> 
> No radios
> 
> No questioning the veracity of my list
> 
> No pornography
> 
> No stealing
> 
> No fighting
> 
> No dancing
> 
> No singing
> 
> No yelling
> 
> No banging on stall doors – wait your turn!
> 
> No gambling
> 
> No soliciting


End file.
